


Lucidty

by UlisaBarbic



Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (TV 1987), Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types
Genre: BAMF Michelangelo (TMNT), Baxter is a good guy, Big Brother Leonardo (TMNT), Empath, Empath Michelangelo, Family Bonding, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Gen, Hurt Michelangelo (TMNT), Protective Leonardo (TMNT), Protective Michelangelo (TMNT), Protective Raphael, Psychic Abilities, Psychic Bond, Saving Baxter, Spiritual Plane, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-19
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-10-31 09:00:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17846405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UlisaBarbic/pseuds/UlisaBarbic
Summary: In a direct follow up to my story "Clarity": now that Baxter Stockman has been given the ability to think rationally again, the Turtles find themselves rushing to help him save himself before the fly mind can conquer his human one again. Michelangelo is not about to let that happen, no matter what the cost to himself.





	Lucidty

The fly face stared, awestruck before those large red eyes centered on an exhausted Michelangelo, currently leaning against Leonardo for support. Without pausing, the creature lunged and threw his four arms around Michelangelo, as a sobbing voice…but a HUMAN voice…cracked from his very spirit,

“THANK YOU!”

 

Michelangelo lacked the strength to return Baxter’s embrace but he managed, “I…should…we should be sorry…for not realizing…sooner, Baxter.” He winced, “Our bad, dude.”

The fly creature withdrew, stated “No, I should be the one offering apologies.” He clarified, looking on each turtle in turn, “I have done…horrible things to you, to your friends…”

Donatello spoke out, “Baxter…are you…with us…I mean, is your mind?”

Baxter smiled, an odd thing to see on a fly face but it was impossible not to feel it, “I am, for the first time in a long time, of sound mind.” He locked his large eyes on Michelangelo, winced visibly at how utterly worn he looked, “Your brother…he has separated the fly mind from my own. I can think, as Baxter again.”

“Come with us, Dude.” Michelangelo stated and Raphael tensed,

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” He looked down at his little brother, “Are you sure YOU’RE of right mind? Naw, I guess that’s asking too much. This is BAXTER, Michelangelo.”

“I know.” His voice was worn, weak, tired. “And he’s not a bad guy. Think Raphael. Before…Shredder, all he…was doing…was trying…to make a living. No…crime in that…compadre.”

“You have no reason to trust me, Raphael,” Baxter cut in, simply. “I don’t blame you if you don’t. Like I said, I’ve done terrible things to you, to your family. I…don’t know if I can make up for it, or if I can really make you understand but my reality…was not reality. Not for a long time.”

“Oh yeah?” Raphael snapped, “What about the times before you got horror-showed?” He snarled, pulling Michelangelo a bit closer. “What about then?”

“I-“

“Raphael…” Michelangelo’s tone was strained but he had to get Raphael to give in, a little bit, “Dude, I helped Baxter the best I could. Now we gotta help him get back to normal.”

“We gotta what?!” Raphael countered “Where is THAT in the script?”

Leonardo broke in, “Raphael, listen. Baxter is obviously thinking clearly for once. Michelangelo believes in him—“

“Mikey believes in ANYONE!” the red banded turtle protested and to Baxter’s credit, he did not interrupt their arguments. “Baxter used to help Shredder hunt us down, he created a machine to trap Splinter, in case your memory’s faulty.”

“Raphael,” Michelangelo’s voice was short, weak, low. “Would you not help a battered dudette?”

“Huh?” his brother’s response was one of shock, surprise and outright bafflement.

“Would you…turn away…a dudette that…escaped a …bad dude who was…beating on her?” Michelangelo tried again.

“What? ‘Course not! I’m not heartless. What does that have to do with this?”

Leonardo lay a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “I think I get what Mikey means—Baxter wasn’t exactly in the greatest position, were you?” He nodded to the large fly. “I mean, Shredder is not an easy employer to leave.”

“he made it…difficult.” Baxter admitted, though he hated to do such a thing, “I made my mousers for him not knowing what he had planned. Once he had attacked you and your friends with them, everyone in the city knew my name as being labeled with those destructive machines.” He lowered his head, “I never meant for them to be used that way. I didn’t know he was…I was at my wit’s end. I just wanted to be…I wanted to make a difference. But after the fiasco with my mousers, if I were to try and leave…I had nowhere to go to without being labeled a terrorist.”

Michelangelo eyed Raphael, “See? What was…he….supposed…to do…”

“okay,” Donatello cut in, “That’s enough. You’re drained enough. Baxter, you’ll come with us for now. We’ll meet with Sensei and—“

“he’s cool…” Michelangelo cut in, “’member, I sense stuff like Sensei. Baxter…he…not…bad…intent..”

“Donatello said hush, Motor Mouth.” Raphael stood, cradling his brother in a bridal carry. “Let’s go.” He eyed Baxter, cautious but he wasn’t going to reject. He knew that everything his brothers were saying made sense and some deep part of himself knew that Baxter was legitimate (he had not tried to attack once and Michelangelo was beyond vulnerable and you could not fake the sincerity in that ‘thank you.’) but maybe it was the protectiveness in his nature. Seeing his littlest brother so weak…

“You coming or not, Baxter?” he inquired as they made their way down the edge of the building. Leonardo and Donatello went first. Raphael looked down at his brother, wincing. The teen’s face was so oddly pale and his eyes were shut, his temple resting against his brother’s chest. “Hey, Mike?”

“hmm?”

“Can you hold onto my neck, just in case?”

“…kay.” One hand lazily and then the other locked weakly around Raphael’s neck. It was a weak lock. Raphael could feel it. Heck, a light breeze would probably break it. He tightened his grip.

A hand on his shoulder made him turn, and Baxter hovered next to him, “Please, Raphael, I’ll be glad to stay close to provide some air support if you need it.”

The red banded turtle eyed him. He didn’t trust him, not yet. However, he also didn’t trust himself not to drop his brother by accident and his dislike of Baxter paled against his disgust at the idea of dropping his sibling. “…fine.”

 

Baxter crept about, trying to stay as quiet as possible. It was not too late but late enough. He had been, oddly enough, welcomed by the Turtles’ Rat Sensei and after they heard the story of what happened, he had taken Baxter’s hand, without so much as a flinch and said “My son’s Michelangelo’s senses have not faltered. Welcome to our home, Doctor Stockman.” Baxter had been baffled; after everything he had done, and yet they had welcomed him with such open arms. Well, Raphael was still wary but when Splinter had mentioned about Michelangelo’s senses being on point, he had relaxed a bit, though he had not lost that protective stance. Baxter could hardly blame him.

The fly man winced as he glanced around the corner, eyeing the small room that contained Michelangelo. After a brief lookover from both Donatello and their Sensei, Raphael had gently carried his brother into his bedroom and laid him down carefully. As far as Baxter knew, the young teenager had not so much as moved a finger since he was placed down. He had heard the phrase ‘spiritually spent’ and ‘emotionally exhausted’ exchanged from Splinter but he had not dared approach until now.

Softly, he crept to the very edge of the turtle’s room, looked in and nearly wept.

The turtle’s face was pale, a light greenish-blue shade. He was on his side, facing the doorway, breathing steady but oh-so-slow. A faint wheezing came from his throat whenever he exhaled and he did not move otherwise. He did not stir, he did not adjust, he just…lay there. It was like watching a dead body almost, save for the merciful breaths. It was deeply unnerving. He wanted to help but what could he do? He could scarcely even believe he was…that Michelangelo had freed his mind…

A hand lay on his shoulder gently and the man-fly turned, finding the blue banded turtle next to him. He didn’t say anything to Baxter but smiled and then gently padded into the room, taking a seat next to his brother on the bed. He lay a hand on the younger one’s head, saying, softly, “Michelangelo.”

It was slow, painstakingly slow, but the turtle’s eyes opened though he did not turn his head. Baxter got the distinct impression that he couldn’t. He gave the weakened teen what he hoped with a grateful glance but with as exhausted as he looked, he did not know if he really comprehended it or not. He just stood there, silent, watching. Perhaps it was a touch unsettling just having someone watching you but he could hardly do otherwise. His mind, the one thing that truly gave him pride, had been restored to him and it was only right that he be there to help the one who restored it to him.

“here,” Leonardo spoke gently, carefully. “You need to drink some water. Sensei says you have to stay hydrated while you recover.” When Michelangelo didn’t move, the blue banded turtle simply lifted him, gingerly, into his arms, cradling him against his chest like a mother protecting her babe. “Can you at least open your mouth for me?”

The younger turtle’s eyes took on a different look, almost a deep determined glare but no other muscle on his face moved. Baxter leaned a bit against the wall as he realized—he couldn’t. He was literally so drained that he could not even move an eyebrow, talk…nothing! He shifted his eyes to Leonardo, hoping they showed his concern and not a murderous fly. He wanted to ask if this was normal, if he would be okay but he didn’t dare and given that Leonardo did not seem alarmed, nothing was too unexpected.

Baxter got the distinct impression that this, perhaps, was meant to be a private moment but he could not leave. What right did he have not to see what caused?

Leonardo shifted his grip a little, gently pinched his brother’s cheeks enough to ease his mouth open enough to slowly dip some water into the back of his throat. Luckily, the body’s natural reflexes could still swallow and they did so. The leader of the turtles, still with that gentle tone, commented, “Good. You’re doing good. I know you want to sleep but I need you to drink a little more for me first, okay?” He waited a moment then went back to spooning his little brother more water. It was slow, involved and after about three more times, Leonardo lay his head on his brother’s, whispering, “Did good. You did good, Mikey.”

Baxter’s heart plummeted. He did this. He let this happen. Granted, he had no idea that so much spiritual energy could do this…he was hardly an expert on it but still. Michelangelo was the energetic one, the fast paced one, the “party dude!” Yet here he was, cradled in his eldest brother’s arms like some kind of paralyzed victim of some horrible accident. He didn’t deserve it! Perhaps he…he…deserved to stay trapped by that fly mind. He deserved all of it!

“Why did you do this,” Baxter whispered aloud, backing away slightly. “Why did you do this to yourself…for me? An enemy? Why…”

He turned to leave, unsure if he was welcomed to watch any longer when a surge of emotion cut through him. A warm feeling, like being wrapped in your mother’s arms, a feeling of ‘alrightness’ and ‘all is right with the worldness.’ Of…goodness.

Because…

the spiritual voice echoed through his whole body, not just his mind. Like…like…an inner voice was speaking out and telling him what could not be said verbally. It felt familiar, like when he had started to remember who he was. Yes…when Michelangelo had…

He jerked his head, locking eyes with the limp turtle, still cradled in Leonardo’s arms. Though he could not turn his head, he did shift his eyes, slightly and Baxter felt it again…that voice, that feeling.

Because you’re good, Dude. You’re good.

 

Baxter had not slept much. They had supplied him with a futon in the main room but as much as he wanted to sleep (and could now that his mind was quiet!) he could not take his eyes off the small room where Michelangelo slept. Every few hours, a turtle or Splinter would enter and check on the slumbering teen. He had seen Raphael enter and gently turn his sibling on the bed, changing his position. He had seen Splinter enter and much like Leonardo had done with the water, spoon feed him some simple broth, and he had seen Donatello enter and pull a blanket over them for privacy; Baxter could smell the scent of waste elimination and felt a surge of embarrassment erupt. He was not sure if it was him feeling embarrassed for the teen or if the boy was broadcasting his emotions again.

It had been about an hour since Donatello had left him be. Baxter slowly rose from his pallet and approached the boy’s room, cautiously. He couldn’t tell if the teen could hear him or not but it did not look like the boy could have given any indication even if he had wanted to. Baxter lowered his head and gently flew into the room, watching the turtle sleep a moment. “I’m so sorry, Michelangelo. If I…I’m so sorry you’ve ended up like this. If I can…do anything…” He reached out, subconsciously almost to touch his shoulder but then drew back. He still had fly hands. He didn’t want to frighten the turtle!

Instead, Baxter withdrew slightly, though his eyes were drawn to the teen’s nightstand. Aside from the spoons and water bowls and soup bowls left there, he spied a collection of pictures, in one of those multi frames. It was propped against the wall instead of hanging up, probably due to the type of wall it was, but the photos inside were easily visible.

Gently lifting it, Baxter took a glance over the seven photos inside. They were all old, worn by time. In the far left corner, he saw one of what had to be Donatello but he was younger…maybe nine or so? He was twirling a wrench in his right hand and judging by the black eye he was sporting, his last attempt to do such a feat had not ended well. The middle picture was of Leonardo, perhaps seven or so, with a super focused look performing what had to be a kata. The third photo on the top row was of Raphael, wearing a pair of goofy glasses, a fedora hat that was way too big and giving the ‘v for victory’ sign to the camera. He looked like he was maybe eleven.

Baxter found himself smiling, without realizing it. These pictures really painted a story. He had never thought about what kind of life the turtles had when he had worked for the Shredder and after he had been cross mutated, he had not been enough in reality to really ponder anything. Now though, he found he was truly wondering what kind of childhood they had possessed. If these were any indication, it had been quite a happy one.

Unlike him and his brother…

Shaking his head loose of those unpleasant memories…of the brother that never tried to help him…Baxter shifted his eyes to the bottom row. The first photo looked more recent, maybe taken a year or two ago. It consisted of all four turtles and Splinter, along with April and Irma (he thought that was her name) posed in front of the Eiffel Tower in France. Incredible…they had been outside of the country? He knew most adults could not boast that. The second photo was definitely in Italy, all four of the turtles sitting on a fountain and stuffing pizza into their face. Of course, in Italy, they would go for pizza. The third picture on the row was of Raphael and Donatello giving Michelangelo an annoyed look as he draped over their shoulders. Typical little brother.

The middle picture in the frame was all four turtles leaning against Splinter and making faces at the camera while the rat looked more than little exasperated.

Shaking his head, Baxter lay the frame back against the wall and his eyes caught another portrait, this one was hanging from the wall, on second glance it was held in place with ninja stars, looking to be collage style. As the scientist investigated it, he smiled. It was made of all four turtles, each one of them posing with a piece of work done by one of their namesakes—Donatello standing with his head held high and hands on his hips in front of the statue of St Mark, Leonardo at attention with a huge smile with the Mona Lisa behind him, Raphael leaning against the wall with arms crossed with the School of Athens making up his backdrop and finally Michelangelo swinging from the ceiling beams with the magnificent Sistine Chapel ceiling behind him.

“You really are close, aren’t you?” he inquired, looking to the slumbering surfer turtle. Of course, he did no reply but Baxter had not expected one. Oh, to have that kind of relationship…

The sound of footsteps approaching caused the scientist to fly up to the ceiling and try and rush from the room. Instead, he nearly ran into Leonardo.

“Baxter…” the turtle sounded surprised but not overly alarmed.

“L-leonardo…I apologize. I was just…checking on…seeing if I could…” he stuttered, something he had not done since childhood and almost passed out from relief when Leonardo gently clasped his shoulder.

“Baxter, don’t worry about it. I came in to help Michelangelo real quick.” He approached the bed without another word, calling softly, “Michelangelo,” before lifting his brother into his arms, “More water, little brother.”

Baxter felt a surge of emotion (ah, so the boy WAS broadcasting his emotion) and it was definitely of the ‘really,dude?’ variety. Leonardo must have caught wind of it because he replied, “Sorry, but you need water. We can do it this way or I think Donatello was thinking of hooking up an IV…”

A wave of “NO!” nearly knocked Baxter flat and Leonardo had a low smile “I didn’t think so. Now come on, drink some for me.”

Baxter kept quiet throughout the ordeal, watching, wondering what it must be like to have someone care for you so much. To wake themselves up to take care of you. To gently tease you to ease your discomfort. To, when all was said and done, cradle you into their chest and wait for sleep to claim you again. He was unable to resist and asked, “He…is so precious to you.”

Leonardo blinked, surprised “What? Of course he is. He’s my baby brother.”

“Not…all families are like that.” Baxter said simply. Leonardo appeared baffled but then narrowed his eyes, nodded,

“I take it that you and Barney never did get along well? He didn’t seem too thrilled with being mistaken for you.”

Baxter closed his eyes, willing those memories to cease and go away, “We have never gotten along. Even as children. Most twins would cling to each other but we could not wait to get away from each other. We used to look exactly alike before my hair lightened and then darkened to brown in the past few years. Barney hated it. He hated being called Baxter, even by mistake. Broke a child’s nose over it.” He scoffed, “It didn’t help that our mother never bothered to try and keep us straight. She said what was the point with identical twins? Maybe that was what bothered Barney the most…” Baxter mused, softly, “You…all seemed to look similar as children. Did…it ever bother you to be mistaken for one another?”

Leonardo squeezed his brother a little tighter, “No…we used to try and trick Sensei. Sometimes he would play along but he always knew the difference.”

Baxter nodded “i…see. Leonardo, I am truly grateful for what you have done…what you all are doing for me. But I must insist, again, if I had known what an effect it would have had on Michelangelo…”

“he would have done it anyway.” Leonardo said simply, glancing down at his sleeping brother with a look that was a definite mix of paternal and fraternal. “My little brother is just like that. You could have protested all you wanted but if Mikey thought it would help save you…he would have done it anyway.”

Baxter frowned “he…is a rare type, Leonardo.”

A chuckle, “Don’t I know it. So are you Baxter.”

“Not the good kind.’ He insisted, looking at his hands.

“Oh, I don’t know about that. You got led astray,” Leonardo admitted “But that can happen to the best of us. Now, you have a chance to try again. You and Donatello can start work on a cure tomorrow, right?”

“We plan on examining my blood and the DNA configuration to try and isolate the fly DNA, yes. It may be possible to destroy that strand with epigenetics or a similar function to render them inert.” Baxter said simply, as if he were explaining how to make a peanut butter sandwich. He caught Leonardo’s blank stare and rephrased, ”Hide them to keep them from working or blow them up.”

“Ah.”

“But” Baxter added, his eyes lost, “If the fly’s DNA has mutated into my own so much…I don’t know if I can isolate my own. If I can really recognize my own anymore…”

“Well,” Leonardo advised, “A lot of good what ifs will do us now, you’ll have to see what you’re dealing with tomorrow. You should get some sleep.”

“yes, yes,” he agreed. “You as well Leonardo.”

“I will, as soon as Michelangelo falls asleep.” He replied.

Baxter blinked, “he isn’t asleep now?” he gestured to the heavy breaths, the closed eyes and Leonardo shook his head,

“Nope but he’s close. Good night, Doctor Stockman.”

“You as well, Leonardo.” The fly left the room slowly as Leonardo felt a surge of energy from his brother

Got…an idea…

“Not now.” Leonardo scolded. “You’re still far too drained. Recover first.”

But…

“Michelangelo…”

Aw, great, you’re pulling out your ‘Daddy’ voice.

“Michelangelo…you have already given Baxter the first glimpse of hope he’s had in years.” Leonardo stroked his brother’s head, massaging gently as he did so. “Let yourself recuperate and then we’ll see what else we can do for him, alright? Donnie won’t be able to help him if he’s worried about you. Rest.” He deepened his massage, focusing on his brother’s temples.

Cheater…

“Big Brother Privilege.

 

"I'll...be back in a little bit, dudes." Oh that got heads turning and Raphael leapt up and rushed his littlest brother who was currently leaning on the wall for support. "You'll what? Where do you think you're going?" Raphael didn't mean to come off so sharp but c'mon! What was his brother thinking!? "Out..." Michelangelo began but then yelped when his strongest brother dipped underneath him and without too much force, came up with the orange banded turtle thrown over his shoulder "Hey!" The surfer turtle protested "Put me down, Raphael!" "Sure. In your bed or on the couch, which one?" Came the sarcastic response "Neither! I'm fine!" He protested but his squirms didn't budge his sibling's grip an inch. He normally could make him wince but Raphael was only using one arm here! C'mon!! "Mikey..." Donatello walked up as Raphael made the choice for Michelangelo and headed for the couch "You're not nearly strong enough yet to be running around! I'm not happy you're up at all--" "And if Leonardo finds out you were planning on heading to the surface, he will have your HEAD." Raphael remarked with a shrug as he set his sibling down on the couch and towered over him, arms crossed. "And if you try anything sneaky, I got no problem calling Fearless up." He waved his comm threateningly. Pouting but a bit relieved to sink into the couch's cushions, Michelangelo snarled "Really Dude? You're pulling the "I'm gonna call your mommy if you don't behave card?"" "It works" came Raphael's defense. Donatello lay a hand in his brother's shoulder "Mike you're doing better but you still need to rest and take it easy. Didn't I have to help you walk to the bathroom earlier?" Color flooded his face "But i wanna help. Leo's helping Baxter grab some stuff from his lab. I want to help--" "You've already done more than enough," Raphael reminded him "Baxter can think straight again for once." "No," Michelangelo protested "I had a thought. There's more I..can..." he cursed to himself as a yawn escaped his mouth. Both his brothers gave him skeptical looks. "Shimatta.." the teen groaned, laying his head deep into the back of the couch. "Language, my son!" Came a call from Splinter's rooms. Groaning, the turtle turned on his side on the couch "Okay...you win." He hated this but he also had to admit that trying to keep upright was getting way too hard. Donatello gently rubbed his head "Just wait until Leonardo and Baxter get back. I promise we'll find something you can help with." Admitting defeat, the teenager allowed sleep to take him but he was hardly done. Not by a long shot. He'd heard enough a few days ago to know that finding Baxter a cure was going to take all the help they could get and if he was right, he had a limited amount of time to do it in. He waited, almost two hours, until Donnie was consumed in his projects and Raphael in his joke books. Splinter he could feel in the dojo. Forcing himself to his feet, he slipped out of the Lair, urging himself "Just get this done and you can rest." Keep going...

 

Michelangelo was beginning to think his brothers had been right. He had lost track of time but he guessed it had been about an hour since he left the Lair. He’d left his turtle comm there; Donatello would track him in a heartbeat with it and he had no time for them to start pulling him back home. Though, as he found his vision swirling a little, he was beginning to think that might not be a bad thing. He didn’t want to admit it but his strength, despite coming back, had not returned in full, not even half.

Laying a hand on the nearby sewer wall, he slid to his knees a moment, panting deeply. No, he couldn’t stop. He had heard Baxter and Donatello discussing their options and the desperation in Baxter’s voice a few days ago, though they had not known he was listening in. He was good at that. Came with being the youngest.

 

_“It is deeply ingrained,” the scientist gave a hefty sigh as the purple banded turtle took another glance through the instrument and had to nod in agreement. They had taken samples of Baxter’s blood to see what they were working with and so far, it was quite discouraging. “The fly’s DNA is so intertwined that I truly cannot see what genes are mine and what are the fly’s.” He groaned in deep frustration. “The fly’s mind is contained but it will eventually break loose again. I cannot ask your brother to keep it at bay indefinitely.”_

_Donatello nodded. That was probably the worst part. Knowing that eventually, your sanity would slip away and you would become lost again, a prisoner in your own mind. He shuddered at the mere thought of it. Had Baxter been mutated with mutagen, he could have probably devised an antimutagen fairly easily. However, his mutation had been different, a complete flux on the part of alien machinery. So, they had to delve deeper and look into gene therapy, possible serums to isolate the fly DNA. The first step was to identify what was fly and what was human._

_“Doctor Stockman,” Donatello offered, “Don’t you have any files with your DNA sequence?”_

_Baxter scoffed, “Of course not. It is not a routine procedure, not to mention normally expensive. Do you?”_

_Donatello smirked, “Well, I suppose my brothers and I are a little different but yes, we do. I did it when we were younger in case we ever needed to utilize them.” He sighed, “I was just thinking it would be so helpful if we had an original ‘map’ so to speak to go off of. Or even a partial one.”_

_Baxter sighed “Unfortunately, it seems we are forced to do this the hard way.”_

_Laying a hand on the man-fly’s shoulder, Donatello reassured, “Hey, we’ll figure it out. We haven’t failed yet!”_

He had to help. That was why he was out here. Michelangelo pushed against the wall, willing his knees to push him up.

No good. He didn’t budge. “Aw, c’mon,” he groaned slightly, “Don’t give up on me now.”

Nothing.

Michelangelo stressed his muscles, pushed all his will and desire into those stupid muscles, asking them, pleading with them to please work. Let him be able to at least try and---

All he got for his efforts was blurred vision and then darkness.

 

Wakefulness came to him slowly. His eyes cracked, lightly and came to focus on a plastron and the realization that he was being carried. Blinking a few more times, he shifted his eyes upward or tried to only to find he was back to barely being able to move. He strained his muscles, tried to make them move, but as before, he received nothing for his efforts. Well, perhaps not nothing.

A sharp sting erupted through his left hand when his current rescuer applied quite a bit of force to that lovely pressure point. Though his voice was barely more than a mouse’s whisper, he still managed:

“’tai, itai, itai!”

“Good.” The tone was sharp, dark and oh-so-unhappy. He recognized Leonardo’s voice and now that he focused, he could hear the buzzing from Baxter’s wings as well. “Hamato Michelangelo, give me one reason not to utterly kill you!”

“…uh…good….reason…” he stammered. He was trying to convey he had a good reason to be out here but he had a feeling that was not going to fly with his eldest brother.

The sharp pain returning in his hand confirmed it, “Itai!”

 

“Michelangelo.”

The turtle didn’t turn, though not out of malice but because he literally could not. He could talk, at least some though. “Hey Baxter.”

The fly drifted into the room, settled on the bed, saying, “I…I…I appreciate what you’ve done for me but you are only going to make yourself worse. Please, I plead with you, stay in bed this time, truly recover.”

Michelangelo smirked, lightly. “This isn’t my idea of fun either, Dude. Having to have your bros help you with literally everything…I can’t even pee in peace.” He didn’t feel like adding that he wasn’t even physically capable of getting in position without help. “But I don’t regret it. And I guess I’m stuck like this for a while. Didn’t plan on tapping out my resources but…” He paused, took a hefty breath, like doing that simple talking had whisked all the energy out of him. “So don’t blame yourself for it, Baxter.”

The fly-man frowned, “Michelangelo…why are you pushing yourself so much for me?”

“You’re…good.” He clarified again. “Good in you. You…just need another chance.”

“I’ve…had a lot of chances.” Baxter admitted, “I have yet to make good on them.”

Michelangelo did not seem bothered in the least by that, “Takes…time. Know how long it took me…to get my first…kata down?” He paused and when Baxter didn’t ask, he answered, “Almost…six months. My bros…were way ahead of me. But…Sensei tol’ me that…we all learn…different. That…we…” he trailed off, took a deep breath. Baxter lay a hand on the turtle’s shoulder, softly.

“No, that’s enough. I think I get what you’re saying. It can take time to really get your footing. I suppose I understand that but I just get so frustrated some times. That was why I went with Shredder. I was so frustrated, felt so at the end of my rope…”

“Make decisions….when you’re at the end….of your rope…you…usually fall.” Michelangelo managed. “Leonardo says…tie a knot, hold on and climb up….then decide.” Baxter considered this a moment as the turtle lay his head down into the pillow deeper. These turtles, now that he was allied with them instead of on the opposite side, were much wiser than their age should have dictated. He had been working with Donatello and his intelligence truly did astound him. The same was true for the rest of them.

“Your brother is wise beyond his years.” Baxter commented, watching Michelangelo with worry in his heart. The boy’s breathing had turned deep again and it seemed to worsen as the conversation went on, “Michelangelo, perhaps I should get one of your brothers or Splinter? You seem…well, you are far more drained than I’m comfortable with.” As the scientist moved to stand, his left arm caught and when he looked down, he spied the turtle’s hand clasped tightly on it. Wait…was he…

Yes! Damn it, yes he was! Baxter couldn’t feel the fly mind poking at its net anymore!

“Michelangelo!” He snapped “I am in control, what are you doing?!”

“Buying a little time…” he slurred. “heard you…and Donnie…the fly…strong…each…day. Build…the…wall a …bit harder…” His tongue was slowing and his speech began to blur. Baxter forcefully wrenched his arm from Michelangelo’s. What was he thinking?! Granted, Baxter had discussed with Donatello that the confinement on the fly, while holding, was starting to weaken but that didn’t mean Michelangelo needed to do anything about it! And now, look at him!

He was pale, trembling and he wasn’t talking anymore. Baxter got a faint surge of emotion of fear, panic, of such utter weakness that--

“Leonardo! Raphael! Donatello! Master Splinter! Come quickly!”

One nice thing about this Lair was its size. Within two minutes, Donatello came tearing from his lab, Splinter and Leonardo from the Dojo and Raphael back flipped over the coach and tore towards the room. It was Donatello that reached them first and Baxter lost no time in shouting, “Michelangelo strengthened the walls around the fly mind again! I had no idea he was even doing it and now he is not even talking anymore. His emotional waves are weak—“

Donatello pushed Baxter aside, a bit roughly to get to his brother, but the scientist thought nothing of it. It was completely understandable in this circumstance. Donatello, while no longer having to play doctor all the time (at least from what Baxter had been told) certainly served as one when Michelangelo was incapacitated. And from what the scientist had observed, all the turtles had basic first aid knowledge. It made sense, given their lifestyle.

“My student…” Splinter began but Donatello, after feeling on his brother’s neck and chest a moment, suddenly grabbed Michelangelo by the leg and dragged him, rather roughly, onto the floor.

“He’s not breathing…”

Donatello immediately began pushing breaths into his brother, with Leonardo knelt next to his side. Raphael put his hands onto Splinter’s shoulders, with the two of them drawing support from one another. Donatello didn’t take his attention away from his brother. Luckily, so far, the turtle still had a pulse though it was weak. No wonder; if he was no longer able to keep pulling in air, his heart would fail not long after. Donatello pushed another puff of air into his sibling then pulled away and Leonardo took his place. After about three breaths from Leonardo, their little brother gave a shuddery cough and inhaled.

Leonardo lifted his sibling a little, to ease his breathing as much as he could. With his voice cracking from unshed tears, he commended, “Good boy.” Rubbing his brother’s shell soothingly, he repeated, “Good boy.”

Gathering what breath he could, trying to ease his racing heart, Donatello turned to his brother and Sensei, “There’s an oxygen concentrator in my lab, go get it!”

“What’s an oxygen—“ Raphael was already up, his muscles tensed to dart off at a moment’s notice.

“I know what it is.” Baxter buzzed over the two and darted into the purple banded turtle’s lab. While he was hardly a medical doctor, he used oxygen a lot in his experiments sometimes (oxygen had an interesting effect on robotics and he had a specialty in genetics as well) but his knowledge here came from personal experience. When they had been children, Barney had acquired a rather intense case of asthma that, thankfully, he had grown out of during puberty. Oh, he had hated Baxter for the longest time, snarling about how it wasn’t fair that he had acquired it and Baxter had not. Understandably…Barney had always been the more athletic of the two. While Barney had grown interested in science later in life, Baxter had been glued to books from the start. So, for the one of them that actually enjoyed some exercise to be saddled with the condition that restricted that, resentment had been expected.

Pushing his thoughts of the past out, Baxter pushed aside one of Donatello’s tables and snagged the machine, darting back to the group of turtles quickly. Splinter quickly moved aside Michelangelo’s writing desk to make room and Donatello snagged it from the fly, switching it on before handing the mask to his brother Leonardo. The leader wasted no time in fitting it over his sibling’s beak and mouth, stating, “Deep breaths, Michelangelo. As deep as you can.”

The teenager did so, gradually forcing the color to reinvade his face. Once it was apparent that he was breathing steady, Donatello collapsed against the wall with a hefty sigh. Leonardo pulled his brother close, subconsciously monitoring his breathing though the machine did that for him. Splinter lay a grateful hand on Baxter’s shoulder and the entire room was tense, recovering from the near tragedy. If Baxter had not thought to call…

Raphael on the other hand, decided to address the elephant in the room, “What the HELL were you thinking?” He thundered at his brother, his muscles pulled taut. “What do we have to do to get it through your head that you can’t keep risking your health like this?”

Michelangelo hadn’t the strength to answer but he dropped his eyes from his brother’s and the whole room got a surge of ‘didn’t mean to scare you’ ness.

That just seemed to make Raphael explore more.

“Bull! You’re putting EVERYTHING in front of yourself! Stop it! Stop it!” Falling to his knees, he grasped his youngest brother by the shoulders and shook him and he shook hard, “Stop it! What if we hadn’t gotten you breathing again? What good would it have done if you had died? What…if you…” Raphael pulled his brother into his chest, held him as tight as he dared. “Don’t…do that…to me.” He shuddered, fighting a losing battle with his tears, “I can’t take that. If any of you…if you…died…I couldn’t take it. I’m not…that strong.”

Michelangelo focused as much as he could do and simply responded with an intense wave of emotion. A combination of emotions, of all depths, from a long history with every single person in this room. Baxter felt a bit out of place as he had never felt such a thing from his own family. It was a mix of you-drive-me-crazy, I’d-die-for-you, I-wanna-kill-you-sometimes, you’re-always-there but overall, it was a feeling that was…safe. Utterly completely and totally safe.

Donatello wrapped his arms around his two brothers as Leonardo did the same and Splinter knelt and added his own. It was a literal pile of hugs and tears. As if they were all that mattered in the world.

Slowly, Splinter turned, eyed their guest and extended a hand.

Baxter took it.

 

“I don’t like this.”

Michelangelo turned to Raphael, “Raph, I’ll be fine. Baxter and I are just gonna talk to him.”

The red banded turtle eyed Leonardo, “You’re okay with this?”

Leonardo sighed, shook his head, “Not completely but I trust Michelangelo.” He gave his sibling a look “And you’re certain you’re strong enough for this?”

Nodding firmly, he stated, “I promise, Amigo.”

Raphael threatened, “You better be because if you’re not…I’m gonna kill you after I resurrect you.”

“Gotcha.” Michelangelo said simply, “C’mon Baxter.”

The fly man took a cautious step after the orange banded turtle, “I…do not know if this will work, Michelangelo.”

“Me neither,” he admitted “But we hafta give it a shot. I mean, who knows?”

The scientist was hardly convinced but it was so very hard to resist to Michelangelo. He was learning that simply from the small amount of time he had been around the turtles. He took a slow step, climbing the ladder after the teenager. It was not very far but each step felt like lead. His wings fluttered nervously, a tic that he had developed over the years. He shifted, looked down at the two turtles below him. “You…will be near, if necessary?”

Raphael nodded, “Count on it, Baxter. Half a minute, tops.” He paused and added, “And Baxter, Dude…if he doesn’t work, you’ve still got us.”

The fly-man finally smiled, though halfway. “Thank you.”

With that reassurance, he followed Michelangelo through the sewer exit and into a lab. It was not broken down but it was definitely…not the most profitable. All the same, he recognized it and he definitely recognized the individual working the next room over. Michelangelo gave him a smile, a reassuring squeeze of the hand and the two approached, though Michelangelo was certainly more silent in his steps than Baxter. For all his playfulness, he was a ninja, no doubt.

The figure ahead of them didn’t notice them at all. Michelangelo made the first move, “Hey, Dude!”

The red haired figure whirled around instantly on the defensive. When he saw them, he predictably became panicked, grabbing one of the large microscopes and preparing to throw it. “What are YOU doing here? Get out!”

Michelangelo scoffed, “Geez, not big on greetings, are you?”

The scientist scowled, “What introductions? You were the one that thwarted my job with the House of Ha Ha!”

Michelangelo put his hands on his hips “Well, excuse me. You kinda kidnapped my big brother. Tends to make keeping a job hard.” He narrowed his eyes “But we’re not here about that. I dunno what science mondo-jumbo you’re working on—“

“Mumbo Jumbo?” barney snarled, “I’ll have you know it’s a very sophisticated machine that’s going to make me rich!”

Baxter finally found his voice. Seeing his brother again, for the first time in such a long time, took his breath away. Dozens of memories began to flood his mind, most of them poor but there were a handful that captured his heart and he found himself swelling with nostalgia. All the same, he forced himself to stay focused and he tried to lock eyes with his twin brother but with little luck. His large fly eyes were too intimidating. But he had to… “Barney?” he tried.

The scientist finally acknowledged him and he made no attempts to hide his disgust. “Baxter…so it’s true…a botched experiment and look at you now. You always were the worst of us.”

Michelangelo spoke up “Excuse me? It wasn’t no botched experiment. Krang and Shred-Head did it! Baxter didn’t do anything!” He felt a pulse of emotion from both Barney and Baxter. From Baxter it was relief, reassurance, someone was standing up for him. From Barney, oh it was an interesting cornucopia. Disgust, horror and then anger like a blanket over several others. Oh, boy, this man had some fraternal issues, that was for sure!

“Barney, you were always more daring in your experiments than I was.” Baxter tried. “I…know I have not always been supportive of you but I—“

“Oh, so now you’re coming to me for help?” he snarled. “You’re gone all this time without even an acknowledgement over MY accomplishments and now you’re here for help!?”

“I…I did not mean to be so absent, Barney,” Baxter started again “I thought you had no interest…”

“Oh, you always were the one to make assumptions, Baxter. Because, of course, Baxter would have the answers. No need to see what BARNEY Stockman thought!”

Baxter’s wings quivered “Barney, I never—“

“Get out!” Barney hissed. “We’ve nothing to discuss!”

“Barney, please,” Baxter tried again, his eyes threatening to spill over, “I know Mother and Father—“

“Don’t speak to me about father or Mother, freak!” Barney thundered. His whole being erupted with fury, disappointment, embarrassment but again, the rage covered all the underlying emotions that Michelangelo could just barely see the peak of. And from Baxter…poor Baxter…so much pain, so many unshed tears, such desperation, just a desire to have a chance to reconnect, to explain, to be heard…

Michelangelo jumped forward and clamped one hand on Baxter’s shoulder and one on Barney’s arm, “Oh, we’re talkin…” In that moment, he centered his core on their cores, their spirits and with a surge of energy pulled all three of them into the Astral Plane

 

Appearing in that metaphysical world was slightly different this time around. Michelangelo had been reluctant to do it, what with being so newly recovered (oh, he could hear Raphael now) but he didn’t see a choice. With Barney so wrapped up in that anger protective coating, it was impossible to get anywhere with him! They needed to have a legit conversation and with him not even trying to hear, that made it impossible. However, on the Astral Plane, he could see and feel all his emotions so maybe he could play mediator a little better.

Baxter awoke quickly once the feeling had subsided and glanced at his friend, “Michelangelo, are you strong enough to do this?”

The turtle replied “Gonna hafta be. This is the only way we’re gonna get anywhere Dude!”

Baxter could agree to that. Barney could be very stubborn if he wanted to be. It was a Stockman trait. Both their parents had had it and both he and his brother had. Had they had any children, he was sure they would have had it as well. The scientist glanced down at his hands, fighting the tears at the human hands. Of course, on the metaphysical plane, they appeared as their souls were and Michelangelo was right, he was still human in his heart. Still, seeing himself like it again…

Baxter forced himself to stop staring at his hands (his HUMAN hands!) and focused on his brother. Barney was a few feet away from him and he was sitting up slowly. He glanced around, his long red hair fluttering a bit in the non-existent wind. Shifting to stare at his brother and the turtle, Barney gaped, “Baxter…you’re human!”

Michelangelo clarified, “Duh, Dude. This is the Astral Plane, the spiritual world. You appear as you really are, what you are here” he slammed a hand over his chest over his heart “That’s what determines things here. Maybe we can actually TALK talk here now.” He eyed Barney, “We did come to you for help Dude because if we wanna help Baxter we need a map for his human self and we figured a brother was a good place to start. But…you guys got some serious issues.” Here, he stood up straight and crossed his arms, taking on a very thick and horrible fake-Austrian accent, “Doc Michelangelo will see you now.” He turned serious again, looking first at Baxter then at Barney “Soooo….where did your problems with one another start, eh?”

Barney stared at his brother for a long moment. To talk…to really look at his relationship with his brother…after all these years

A sharp icy barrier erupted from the ground and surrounded Barney, encasing him in the milky white substance.

“Barney!” Baxter rushed his twin, placed his hands on the barrier. He could not even see his brother anymore. Tears in his eyes, he whirled to the turtle, “Michelangelo, what happened?!”

The teenager looked confused but approached and lay a hand on it, closing his eyes. After a moment, he stated, “Denial. You’ve heard of defense mechanisms, right?”

“Of course,” Baxter responded, “Psychology 101.”

“Your bro has totally wrapped himself in it!” Michelangelo replied. “But…I think I can make them come down but dunno if they’ll stay down once we leave here.” He eyed Baxter “Cause…with the fly, that was a totally bizarro case. This…your bro’s done this to himself.”

Baxter stared at the horrible encasement. His sibling, so wrapped up in his own brokenness that even on the Astral Plane, he hid. “Can…can you try?”

The surfer turtle nodded, closed his eyes, seeking out Barney’s spirit within the dark ice. “Why don’t you want to talk to your bro?”

From within the ice, he felt “Because I do not want to look at myself.”

Licking his lips, Michelangelo went on. This was hard, it was like having to use the energy to go into the Astral Plane within the Astral Plane…his hands were shaking but he forced them to stabilize. “What is it about yourself that you don’t want to see?”

“The things I have done.”

“What have you done that you’re afraid to see?”

“I was cruel. I was not a good brother.”

Michelangelo yelped as he felt another wall come up but this one was not denial. No…this one was misdirection. He could feel it. Like…well, it was like…picture if someone threw a ball at your face and it hit someone else in the head. That was the only way he could come up with describe it. Great. He dug deeper, sweat breaking out on his forehead. “Who made you angry?”

“My…parents.”

“What did they do?”

“They…did not try to understand us. They did not try to tell us apart. We were not…separate.”

Baxter gasped as the first layer of whiteness slowly peeled away. He could still barely make out his brother but he was clearer now than he was before.

“You were disappointed.” Michelangelo stated simply.

“I could have made them proud. I could have shown them how unique I was.” Barney’s voice paused, “Baxter could have shown them how unique he was. That we were not two of one but two of two.”

“They didn’t accept that…”

“No…” Baxter mused as Barney gave the same response. “We were…twins. Twins are meant to be the same they said.”

“That’s why I tried so hard to part from Baxter,” Barney’s voice echoed again, “So they could not claim they were right and we were wrong. That was why I never worked with Baxter. When…when he asked me for help in financing his Mousers, I refused. I shut the door in his face…”

Baxter’s face widened in realization. “Then…after that I was approached by Shredder after my appointment with Ajax exterminators went south…”

Michelangelo blinked and then inquired, feeling it as clear as glass from Barney “You blame yourself for what happened to Baxter.”

“If I had not rejected him, he would not have been mutated.” Barney’s voice was cracking, shaking, “Whether I believed it to be an experiment or not is irrelevant. I did not help him and his life went to Hell afterwards. I failed him. I was…too busy wanting to make sure Mother and Father were proven wrong…I wanted them to feel pain like we had felt our whole childhood that I didn’t care how I hurt in the process. I…I…I…did this to Baxter! I did it!”

The last bit of the ice shattered away and Baxter was face to face with his twin, tears running down his face, “Forgive me, Baxter. Forgive me. God, I am so sorry…”

Baxter reached out, touched Barney’s tear stained face, “Barney, it was not your fault.”

“it was. Our whole lives, I rejected you. I didn’t want to be lost in you. I didn’t want you to be lost in me. I wanted Mother and Father to realize that so badly. I thought if we became as different as night and day, they would have to. If I forced myself to be away from you…but I always admired you Baxter. Oh, your mind for science…so like mine. When you would talk about your experiments. When you told me about your Mousers, every fiber of my being wanted to a part of that. When you were telling me about them that night, for a moment, I was going over my bank accounts in my head, seeing what I might be able to spare. Then…I remembered. No, I would be one of two again. I could not…” He buried his face into Baxter’s shoulder, “Forgive me, brother. Forgive me.”

Baxter wrapped his arms tight about his twin, his own body shaking. He eyed Michelangelo who looked like he was going to pass out any moment. His ability was faltering. He could feel it. Glancing down at his twin’s feet, he saw that horrible ice beginning again. Closing his eyes tightly, knowing that his brother’s anger and rage would return, he eyed his friend, “Michelangelo pull us out, you’ve done all you can do. You have given me more than I could ever ask for.”

 

Baxter awoke slowly, shaking his head on the floor of Barney’s lab. Looking to his left, he saw Barney slowly awakening. For a moment, the two eyes met and Baxter’s heart sank as he saw that horrible anger start to come back. Barney was up and rushing to the door of the lab in a moment. Sighing, Baxter shifted his sights to Michelangelo.

The teenager was lying sprawled on the floor, unconscious though breathing was steady. Baxter gently gathered him into his fly arms and took out the teen’s turtle comm, “Leonardo. Raphael. We will need some assistance.”

“On it, Baxter.” Raphael’s voice answered instantly. “We’re on our way.”

Closing his eyes, he cradled Michelangelo’s body close. Oh, to be given such a gift, even if it was for such a short period. He was grateful. He wished it could have stuck but…

A hand fell on his shoulder.

Looking up, he was surprised to see Barney standing there. “Barney…”

The red haired scientist was quiet and then handed the fly-man a vial. Baxter took it, slowly, staring. It was a small vial, filled with blood. Blinking, Baxter’s eyes slowly settled on the patch of gauze on his sibling’s elbow where the wound was still clotting. Though the icy anger was flooding back into Barney’s eyes, he simply remarked, “You needed a map, a DNA map I’m assuming. No clearer map than your genetic clone’s. Now go.”

“Th…thank you, Barney.” Baxter stammered Leonardo and Raphael made their entrance from the sewer. “Th..thank you…”

“G.o.”

 

Baxter took a hefty breath, looking up at Donatello. “I do not believe we will get it any more refined than we have it.”

The purple banded turtle nodded “I just hate to not be able to run any real tests.” He tugged on his bandana a bit, something that Baxter had noticed he tended to when nervous or unsure. Not that he did not have good reason to be unsure; they had utilized Barney’s DNA to isolate the fly’s DNA and then Donatello had worked out a gene knock in using Barney’s DNA. Essentially, the fly DNA have replaced quite a few of his genes so Donatello simply was going to create a serum to ‘knock out’ the fly’s genes and replace them with his original ones. Given his exposure to mutagen and various alien technology, he’d acquired a means to do this “in the now” instead of being limited to cloning and Petri dish growth. Amazing! Baxter found himself more and more amazed with each moment he spent with the scientifically minded turtle. He had commented such a few days ago as they had been analyzing the blood sample from his brother

_"It is an amazing thing..." Donatello turned, "What is, Baxter?" It must have been a smile though on a fly face, it was hard to tell, "Oh, how my colleagues would weep if I told them they had been both corrected and bested by a scientist who likely just had his voice stabilize a year or so ago." He gestured to the rows of notes and theories they had worked out, “This is something they have been trying to achieve for years! And yet, here I am, working alongside a teenager who has mastered it within years of entering puberty!” Allowing a small smile, Donatello clarified, "I was fourteen and a half when my voice stopped cracking."_

 

He had learned so much on these turtles after just a few weeks with them! He had learned that Leonardo was always the first one up and Raphael the last. He had noticed that Michelangelo did all the cooking and while he preferred to make various different kinds of pizza, he was quite adept at making other meals as well (Baxter had found his teriyaki chicken over rice to be most extraordinary). Donatello served not only as their resident inventor but the ‘Fix-It’ of the household, sometimes to his annoyance. Raphael was usually called in for the manual labor; Baxter remembered distinctly his “If you’re calling me to carry ANYTHING else, I’m gonna kick your shell, Donatello!” Leonardo, despite his protests, really did seem to have the role of ‘family mom’ in that he kept everyone in order and organized and always seemed to have an answer. Master Splinter was head of the house and the others deferred to his judgment but he carried such an air of openness that questions and even rebuttals to ideas were welcomed. Such a well-oiled machine. Before, he had simply regarded them as genetic experiments, freaks even but now, now that he had no bias of fear or Shredder’s version to get in the way, he was truly humbled by their friendship. All their efforts. They had no reason to help him, none at all. They would be no worse off than before if they had refused him. In fact, they might have been better off…

Michealngelo cut into his thinking, asking, “So…is this gonna cure Baxter, Donatello?”

The scientific turtle took a heavy breath, “That is our hope. We’ve isolated the fly DNA utilizing DNA markers and I’ve created a knock-in gene sequence to replace the fky genomes with Barney’s genomes and because they’re identical twins, the results should be the same as if they were Baxter’s own DNA, with maybe a few phenotypical differences.”

He was greeted with a blank stare from both Leonardo and Raphael while Michelangelo blinked with slight confusion. Studying under Dr. Goodfellow, he was learning basic biology so some of those terms were familiar but the way that Donatello was talking about using them was more than a little overwhelming. Baxter cleared his throat, well, as best he could clear his throat and tried to clarify, “He’s made a program in the serum that will get rid of the fly DNA and put Barney’s in, hopefully restoring me to human form.”

“Ah.” Raphael eyed his brother, “Why didn’t you just say that?’

“I did…never mind.” He shook his head and approached Baxter with a large syringe in hand, with a purple-greenish liquid within it. Michelangelo quickly stepped as far away from Donatello as he could but he never let his eyes leave Baxter. It was an odd gathering, all of them settled in Donatello’s lab and hoping for a miracle, hoping that what all the hard work that had gone into this, had worked. The fly-man extended his humanoid arm to the turtle who paused a moment then turned,

“Michelangelo, I need your help.”

The orange banded turtle winced as he STILL hated needles, despite having gotten better at controlling it with Dr. Goodfellow’s help, “Me, compadre?”

“Yes,” Donatello clarified. “I need to get this as close to his heart as possible so that it can circulate quickly and hopefully take full effect quickly. I’m a scientist, not a doctor. What’s the best…”

“Here.” Michelangelo approached, smiled at Baxter, feeling his nerves very easily. He tried to push a feeling of reassurance and hope but he didn’t know how helpful it was, given that none of them knew what was going to happen. He pressed on Baxter’s chest, feeling until he hit the collarbone, digging his fingers behind it slightly, he apologized “Sorry Dude.” Feeling, he found it pretty quickly. The fast deep throb. “Right here.” He took the needle from his brother and inserted it, gently, as carefully as he could until it cut into the artery itself. With a deep breath, he pushed the serum in.

Stepping away, Michelangelo handed the empty syringe to Donatello and accepted the hand on his shoulder. Shifting his glance, he gave his brother Raphael a smile. It was hardly Raphael’s nature to be the comforting one but he wasn’t about to reject it. The group of turtles and their master tried to give Baxter as much space as they could, though they really didn’t know what they were expecting to see. Not even Donatello really knew what would happen. So, all they could do was wait.

As for Baxter, at first, aside from the tingling in his neck where Michelangelo had injected the serum, he felt nothing. For a moment, his hopes crashed and he felt so utterly devastated that he was sure he would just collapse to the ground and never rise again. Oh, if there was truly no way to escape this fly body then truly, if there was a God and He was merciful as everyone said, then let this serum stop his heart and put him out of his misery before he lost himself again.

Then, just when he was prepared to accept his horrendous fate, it hit him.

Pain.

Intensive, massive pain. Not even the shock when his body first combined with the fly compared to this. He felt like his cells were shredding in his body, being ripped to pieces with red hot pliers. He fell to his knees and he was pretty sure that he started screaming. He couldn’t tell for certain though. He could no longer see anything. He saw pure white. The kind of pure whiteness that you saw when your eyes could no longer focus on anything because too much energy was being devoted to keeping you conscious. The kind of whiteness that happened when your nerves knew nothing else to do but explode because they could not handle the intensity of the messages of agony they had to send.

He briefly felt a touch on his soul, a gentle, caress that he knew must be Michelangelo broadcasting his emotions again. It was an attempt at comfort. It was an attempt to soothe. As sweet a gesture as that was, it was like using a fire extinguisher on a full blaze. It perhaps aided some but it was too insignificant to truly make a difference. Oh, Baxter had known there was a chance that something could go awry, that things might not turn out like he had hoped but it had been a chance he was willing to take. Now, feeling his very mind starting to slip away due to immersive pain…

Then, just as swiftly as it had come, it faded away.

Baxter blinked, once, then twice. His vision gradually cleared and he was staring at the hard floor of Donatello’s lab. He stared a moment, gathering breath back into his throbbing lungs and trying to slow his heart rate. It took a moment before he realized—his vision was not fragmented, not through compound eyes. In fact, it was a bit blurry. Daring to hope and nearly not even breathing, the scientist held his hands out in front of him, trembling all the while.

Soft, five fingered hands, too pale from being inside most of the day greeted his sight.

Shaking, he clenched his hands into tight fists….human hands.

He felt up to his face, felt over his head. No pinchers, no huge oversized eyes. He drifted his eyes down to the rest of his body.

Pale, naked but human. No wings. No extra arms or legs.

Sudden warmth fell over his shoulders as Leonardo stepped forward and draped a blanket over his nude form, saying softly, “Welcome back, Doctor Stockman.”

“A mirror.” He said suddenly, “A mirror, please…” his voice cracked but there was no buzz within it.

“On it.” Raphael vanished and came back in a moment with an old used mirror but it was sufficient. Baxter laid his fingers upon it, shaking. Stared at the human face that looked back at him. His brown eyes. His shaggy hair that could never make up its mind if it was more brown or more blond, his face that had suffered many a stress wrinkle over his life. Even that bothersome scar on his cheek where he had been cut by an explosion in a beaker during high school.

He….

He was human!

His vision blurred again, this time from tears. He shifted, eyed Donatello, “Oh, my God, Donatello, you did it!”

“We did it.” The genius teen corrected him. “Your insights were priceless and Michelangelo’s idea to contact your brother…”

Splinter took a breath, “It would seem that our group efforts have been successful. We are pleased to have you back to normal, Doctor Stockman.”

Leonardo smiled, “Yeah and now you can get your life back!”

Raphael added “Yep, put that noggin of yours to some good use.”

Michelangelo grinned widely “think of all the places you can go back to Dude! Man, there’s all these totally awesome places out there for you!”

The scientist was silent for a moment, looking from face to face. At his former enemies and now the dearest friends anyone could have asked for. The friends who had risked their livelihood and for one of them, their life, multiple times, just to give him his life back. He shifted to stand up, a bit uneasy on his feet but he rushed them, hugging them each in turn, even Raphael. He stopped at Michelangelo last and took his face into his hands, saying, “Oh, my friend, there may be all kinds of opportunities for me but I will never see anything more glorious than this…” He turned and looked at each of them in turn again, tears running down his face “You..all of you…you are all so beautiful.” He crushed Michelangelo in a tight hug, squeezed as hard as he could on the one that dared to look past the fly’s insanity to save him, “Thank you. Thank you. I am forever in your debt.”

“Naw.” Michelangelo corrected. “Friends don’t keep track.”


End file.
